


Parting Ways

by FrodaB



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrodaB/pseuds/FrodaB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She slips into the city like a shadow, like a thief.</i>
</p>
<p>Warden Amell pays a visit to King Alistair, before the events of Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parting Ways

She slips into the city like a shadow, like a thief. Roughspun cloak and a hood that covers her face as she makes her way through alleys and backstreets to the royal castle. The castle itself would be more difficult to navigate, if she hadn't years ago learned all of the servants' passages, and the guard rotations. She would not be an unwelcome sight, if she uncovered her face and announced her presence, but she cannot let it be widely known that she is here.

His chambers are large, comfortable, and smell so much like him it makes her chest ache with longing. She finds a quiet corner, and she waits.

“Yes, and the trade agreement. I'll see to it in the morning, I'm sure the ambassador can wait one more day and eat our larders empty in the process.”

She doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't _breathe_ , until the door latches closed and she sees him move to the fire place, poking at the logs there, his shoulders slumped wearily.

“I sent the servant away,” she finally says, and Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden and one of the heroes of the Fifth Blight, yelps and jumps like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

“Maker's breath,” he murmurs as she finally slips out of her cloak and crosses the room towards him.

“Hello, Alistair,” she says, pausing with a few feet of space still between them, suddenly hesitant, as she always feels upon seeing his face for the first time after a long absence. When they're finally alone together, like this, the momentary knowledge that she is an interloper here threatens to overwhelm her.

For his part, he looks thunderstruck, frozen to the spot as if by one of her ice spells, but then, all in an instant, he moves, pulling her into a tight, almost desperate embrace. “Maker's breath,” he mutters again, this time his voice full of wonder. And then she's kissing him, and there's no more attempt at speech.

It's best like this, letting their mouths, hands, bodies say the things they can't quite manage with words. _I missed you_ and _I love you_ are the least of them. She traces the lines around his eyes and mouth, remembering those that are familiar and learning the new ones. He maps her spine, her hips, holds her almost as if to say, _perhaps this time you can stay_. It will never be true, but for a few brief moments, as he moves inside her and they're so close they're sharing the same air, she can almost pretend it is. And when she comes, when he follows, spilling inside her as his face goes slack with pleasure, for a moment the years fall away and they're back at the beginning, young and hopeful and in love.

It's some time later when she reluctantly leaves his bed to clean herself. Alistair watches her, head propped on his hand, a look of delight on his face that both warms her and sends a lance of pain through her. He doesn't have that look as often as he should. Nor does she get to see it as often as she'd like.

“We have to stop meeting like this, my love,” he says, never taking his eyes off her. “Why don't you return to court properly? We could have a feast. Maybe even a dance, if you _really_ wanted.”

“It's not so simple,” she replies, though still unable to stop the smile that forms in the face of his enthusiasm, always so glad when she returns to him. “I don't want to draw attention to myself right now.”

“Is this because of what happened in Kirkwall? Because there are... certain parties who want to speak to you, but you know I would never allow -”

“I know,” she says, slipping back into the bed to frame his face with her hands. “I know. I can't involve myself in it, though. I'm a Grey Warden – I cannot take sides. And I would not ask you to take on the burden of shielding me.”

Alistair sighs, but she knows he will acquiesce. She kisses him again, tender and sweet.

“I'll be leaving again before daybreak. I just had to see you – I'm leaving the country. I think I've found a lead.”

His grip on her tightens, and oh, she hates the way his face falls at her news. “A lead?” he asks. “You mean for a cure?”

“Yes, possibly. Far to the west. I don't know how long I'll be gone. It may be nothing, but I have to go investigate it for myself.”

Another sigh. She knows what that means – that he would love nothing more than to go with her, to abandon his kingdom and his responsibilities to go adventuring with her in the wilds again. She kisses him again to prevent him from actually suggesting such a thing. “I have to do this,” she murmurs by way of apology. “I will not lose you to the Blight, not after all we've been through.”

She hates it more and more with each passing year – the knowledge that their time is limited, that they are doomed to die young. She has sacrificed a great many things in her attempts to make a better world. This is one thing she wants for herself, no matter how hopeless it may be. To _save them_. Again.

“You have to be careful,” he finally says, his grip on her tight, insistent. “Be careful, and when you get back, we'll have that feast.”

“All right,” she promises. “And, Alistair? I don't know what will happen with the mages now, but – help them if you can. Please.”

Grey Wardens do not take sides, they serve no one kingdom, race, religion or organization. They take no part in the conflicts of the world – the Blight is their only concern, _should_ be their only concern. But she – she was a mage of the Circle, once, and she cannot help but fear for them. For the innocents now in danger as tensions rise higher with each passing day.

“You know I will,” he says without hesitation. “If it comes to war, there may not be much I can do, but I'll protect Kinloch as best I'm able.”

“Thank you, my King.” His arms tighten around her, and she lets herself relax, for the first time in a long time. “We have a few hours,” she whispers into his neck. “Hold me until I must leave.”

“Yes,” he says. “Always.”


End file.
